Hey Ma and Pa,

Had a wild day being Pawsburgh’s own Sherlock Bones. Saved the town from wobbly chaos with my fur squad – there were some tail shakes, but we snickered them away. Who needs nine lives when you’ve got four paws and courage? 🐾 Btw, I might be part superhero, part comedian now. I’ll need some extra treats for my newfound fame, ok? 😎

Licks and Wags,
Bubby (a.k.a. Cloud) 🐶✨

It was an extraordinarily abnormal day in Pawsburgh, the likes of which had not been seen since the Great Squirrel Migration of ’07. The sun had scarcely winked open its eye when I, Cloud, the resident canine philosopher and pretzel aficionado, awoke to a sudden rumbling. And I tell you, it was not the rumbling of my stomach, which I’ve been known to interpret as the call to heroic action (usually towards the pet store).

Pawsburgh got up on the wrong side of the bed that day, I surmised, as the ground shook beneath my paws more ferociously than I had ever noticed the washing machine do during its most passionate spins. Anyways, logic dictates that one must not stand idly by when the world wobbles; thus, with the dignified air of an Australian Shepherd part-Blue Heeler (which, as you might guess, is quite dignified indeed), I set off to investigate.

From the Quartz Qimmiq Quarter to Vizsla Valley, the townsfolk were as agitated as a cat on a hot tin roof – which is severely agitated, I assure you. Tail wagging with purpose, I led the charge, passing by Husky’s Hotcakes where the stacks of hotcakes were doing a dance of their own, and Terrier Tacos where the tacos, sadly, had ceased their usual tango.

Failures of culinary stillness aside, our circumstance was one that called for level heads and steady paws. Cavalier Cove, the place where pups learned the finer art of the doggy paddle, had become a whirlpool of confusion. Rowdy waves churned the water into a frothy frenzy. It seemed we were on the brink of a natural disaster, the kind that could soak every fur in sight – a fate worse than bath time. The signs were as clear as the glass-like surface of a dreamy morning puddle.

Channeling my inner Douglas Adams, I knew that PANIC was the least helpful response written in large, friendly letters across the galaxy; hence, I opted for the opposite. Rumors had it that Pawsburgh occasionally mirrored our inner turmoils – we hadn’t seen such uproar since Mayor Bulldog chewed through his leash of tolerance during the ‘Great Debate on Fire Hydrant Parking’. But I digress.

The heart of the matter throbbed with urgency. I rallied my furry fellows, my voice a bark above the rest. “Comrades! Pawsburgh needs us to be more than tail-waggers and hydrant-sniffers today!” Or so I imagined I said. In reality, it was more of an assertive woof, but MJ – the epitome of German Shepherd elegance – translated with supportive yips, and the message got through.

We orchestrated a paws-on-deck operation, directing the smaller pups to Woof Waffles for safe-keeping where the syrup was sticky and the waffles cushioned one against tremors. The larger dogs formed a chain, linking paws to comb the streets, providing comfort to those younger or more frightened. Precise teamwork was of the essence.

The disaster climaxed, however, when I misjudged the width of an alley by a full squirrel’s length. I found myself stuck, much like the proverbial bone between one’s teeth. There was a moment – a very long moment – when even the flapping of a butterfly’s wing would have been thunderous in the strained silence.

And that’s when the most un-Dog-like thing happened. I laughed. Out loud. At myself, at the predicament, at the absurdity of worries when faced with the unexpectedness of life. My mirth was infectious – or it was relief that the vibrations had ceased – and my fellow dogs joined in until the laughter was rolling through the town like a frisbee across the park.

Thankfully, the tremors halted, though our chuckles did not. It was a disaster averted, or perhaps one that never really was. Pawsburgh had given us a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma, disguised cleverly as a shaking ground.

In the aftermath, with Pawsburgh restored to its unconventional normalcy, we dogs returned to our secret backyards and basket domains with stories that our humans would never quite understand – though I dare say they sensed our triumph in every jubilant wag as we dreamed of a town that stands on four legs rather than just two.

The End.

Share This Story: